You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface.

somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition. Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here

Somehow our salt evaporates into the air; clings to our skin, the small delicate hairs whisper to us of proprioception. The expansion of your lungs barely felt by the fabric of our surroundings; but by me that space between your face and your lips is acres, indiscernible, receding against touch, slackening entirely the look on your flesh, you enter here with a palpable fear and it excites you, me, it holds a firmament of the masculine in its grasp between us; a felted smooth structure of sawdust and hair, curvilinear, these ideas seed your consciousness like grass, inciting allergies in inhabitants. You fit here somehow, I fit into this bed as well; black and hot like the breath from a spring, chthonic, incongruous but for a more reactive surface. You pool up in involuntary indents: the shallows between collars, the capsules of ears, thighs and the enclaves choate between them, well up in between these sore spasms of lifelessness, lively. There are petit morts dans all of them a sort of small, peripheral blackness mottling pupils bent. A reflexive retinal slackening towards an unknown, inviting repetition, holding out for response, an apex or nadir waiting on the corner, staring at strangers for recognition.